


Le tits now

by tall_wolf_of_tarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oh no there's only one bed, Sharing a Bed, Snow, oh and some smut, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tall_wolf_of_tarth/pseuds/tall_wolf_of_tarth
Summary: Brienne and Jaime get snowed in at Grandpa Dunc's fishing cabin. It would be nice but there is only one bed.At least 12 persons requested a bed-sharing (I among them) so here is a stocking stuffer with bed sharing and smut! Enjoy!
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 47
Kudos: 203
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange Stocking Stuffers 2020





	Le tits now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BananaChef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/gifts), [brynnmck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/gifts), [crescenthour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescenthour/gifts), [Luthien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/gifts), [NaomiGnome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiGnome/gifts), [PrettyThief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyThief/gifts), [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/gifts), [tuliptoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuliptoes/gifts), [WakingDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakingDreams/gifts), [winterkill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/gifts).



> I love everyone in this bar, especially my two lovely betas WildlingofTarth and EmpressM!

Part I - Where there is too much fucking snow

They have trudged through the snow at least a kilometre before the road ends and the ski lodge they have been looking for appears in the light of their torches.

“Stranger fuck me sideways,” says Brienne Tarth and Jaime almost falls on his arse hearing his straight-laced and stonefaced colleague to curse like a Dornish sailor before he sees what she is looking at. Then he nearly does fall into the snow because the ski-lodge is almost cut in half by a tree that has fallen on top of it. And then Jaime knows that the hot bath and warm, comfy bed he has dreamed about in the last hours aren't going to come his way tonight.

When he turns to Brienne Tarth, it's clear that the woman is even more affected by their misfortune than Jaime is. She watches the house with her eyes wide and mouth open like a particularly tall and freckled fish. It would be cute, but Jaime is about two minutes away from hypothermia and a temper tantrum.

“What are we going to do now, Brienne?” The thought of trudging all the way back to the car makes Jaime want to weep. And the car is stuck in a snowbank anyway, so it’s not like they can drive back and search for shelter elsewhere. People have died of exposure in their cars during winter, Jaime has heard. He doesn't want to die yet, or worse, lose his fingers and toes.

“Umm,” Brienne stammers. The moonlight is shining into her wet eyes. “There's a cottage. By the lake. We can go there.”

A cottage sounds excellent. Cottages are almost as comfortable as real houses, only missing billiard rooms or wine basements that real houses do. Unless it's been killed by the trees as well, in which case they are screwed.

“Is it far?”

“No,” Brienne shakes her head and makes the bobble on her hat shake. She wipes her face with her colourful mittens and seems to gather herself together. “Just in the backyard.” She starts walking again. “Come on.”

The good thing about Brienne Tarth is that she is built like a tank. When she trudges onward in the snow she is like a snowplough that leaves a path for Jaime to follow. So that's what Jaime does, thanking again the good sense that they both had to change into their skiing gear before hiking to the lodge. Jaime is not sure how much snow there would be in his pants if they hadn't changed, but it must be considerably more than he has now.

They go around the sad broken ski-lodge and the tree on top of it. There is a shed behind it, which Brienne decidedly ignores, and some mounds in the backyard that might contain some furniture. Or maybe a hot tub, or shrubberies, or a bear cave. Who would know, because everything is covered in a thick layer of snow. An unbelievable amount of snow has come down from the sky in the last few days. Roads have been closed, bridges collapsed, flights cancelled because of the gods damn white menace falling from the sky. Which is why Jaime is here now with his colleague from work instead of in a nice cosy hotel where she was supposed to drive him.

“Here,” Brienne points her flashlight at a particularly tall lump in the snow in the back of the back yard.

“What is that?” Jaime spots some wood and glass peeking out from the snow in the torchlight.

“It's Great Great Grandpa Dunc's fishing cottage,” Brienne Tarth says as she has brought him to a palace instead of something the size of a doghouse.

“Are you sure it's a cottage? My niece Myrcella has bigger dollhouses than this tiny building.”

Brienne turns around and gives Jaime a very impressive glare.

“You are welcome to sleep in the outhouse if you wish.”

She points her flashlight to somewhere in the woods where there is something half-buried in the snow. Only a heart-shaped hole in the door tells Jaime what it is.

Jaime admits defeat and apologises. He then helps Brienne to clean away the snow blocking the front of the door of the cottage and waits patiently when Brienne unlocks the door with a key she takes from top of the door frame.

Better in the doghouse than in the outhouse, Jaime thinks and steps into the dark building after her.

Part II - Where they settle into Great Great Grandpa Dunc’s Fishing Cottage

Great Great Grandpa Duncan's Fishing Cottage is actually quite nice inside, especially when Brienne lights some candles and puts them around the place.

There is a great big tiled fireplace at one end of the room, a dining table with four chairs at the other end, a couple of carved stools in front of the fireplace and an ancient-looking sofa covered with colourful pillows. Jaime debates between a comfortable-looking sofa and very uncomfortable looking stool in front of the fireplace but mindful of snow in his clothes chooses the latter and sits down to it with a great big groan.

“Please tell me that this fireplace is a functioning one,” he looks at Brienne beggingly.

“Of course it is,” she huffs and crouches down in front of it. “And it's a stove, not a fireplace.” Only a few moments later Brienne has built a fire in the fireplace. “It will take a while to warm it up though,” she frowns at it and stands up.

Jaime has already taken off his gloves and is warming his ice-cold fingers in front of the fire.

“I have never felt happier than now, Tarth,” Jaime sighs. “I only need a stiff drink, some food and a place to lay my head for the night to make it perfect.”

Brienne looks up from her phone she is looking at. Based on the very sour look on her face, Jaime suspects that there is still no signal. The damn snow has killed off almost all the cell towers, the radio had said when they were still driving in the car.

“You can check the cabinets for the first two at least,” Brienne suggests and points behind her. “We'll have to make do with whatever's here. I don't think that we should go inside the main house until we know how badly it's damaged.”

Jaime springs to his feet and goes to rumble through a wooden cabinet near the dining table.

“Bingo,” he shouts happily when he opens one door. “We have booze, booze and... Cup noodles? Your family parties are clearly well catered.” He shuffles through the bottles and chooses an expensive-looking bottle of Winterfell whisky. There are glasses in the cabinet so Jaime pours out two generous servings and goes to Brienne.

“You did well today, Tarth,” he gives a glass to Brienne who accepts it with a grateful look. “You got us through the snow and averted all the disasters, and not one toe or finger was lost to frostbite.”

They toast to that and down the whisky. Jaime goes back to the cabinet and takes out the cup noodles.

“The choice is either duck or shrimp-flavoured. We'll have to eat them dry though.”

They don't, because Brienne takes a copper tea kettle sitting on top of the cabinet, fills it with the snow through the crack on the door and hangs it inside the fireplace where there's a hook for the very same purpose.

Jaime retreats to sit in front of the fire and takes the bottle with him. Surprisingly, Brienne who has taken off her coat joins him there. They down more whisky while waiting for the water to boil, both too exhausted to even talk.

It's nice though, and soon it gets warm enough for Jaime to peel off his ski jacket. When he hangs it to the wall next to Brienne's jacket and returns to sit next to Brienne, she takes one look at the Sevenmas sweater he was wearing underneath it and turns away snorting. Jaime's sweater is green and patterned with dancing snowmen. It has “Let it snow” written across the chest but the spacing makes it look like it says “Le tits now.” Jaime had worn it in the hope that Brienne would see it, so mission accomplished, he congratulates himself and fiddles with the switch in the sleeve that makes the snowmen's eyes and coal buttons light up and twinkle in the darkness. Brienne's eyes go wide and she lets out a great big honking laugh.

“Shut up, Tarth,” Jaime grins and pokes her gently with his elbow. “I was on my way to Addam’s stupid Sevenmas party.”

“It's very adorable, Lannister,” she giggles and wipes her eyes. At least they are now wet with laughter and not from crying. “But it doesn’t look very warm. No wonder you complained about the cold all this time.” She stands up from her seat when the kettle starts to make noise. Brienne's sweater is a cream coloured fisherman's sweater, a well worn and soft looking one that looks warm and cosy. Jaime looks at her moving around the room, lifting the kettle away from the fireplace with a hook, pouring the water to the cup noodles and putting cutlery and napkins to the table. She looks like she belongs here in this cozy and warm cottage, full of fluffy pillows and comfortable rugs on the floor and cupboards full of booze and cup noodles.

“The noodles are uncle Endrew's,” she says when they are slurping the cup noodles. “He likes to camp out here and eat junk food he is not allowed to have at home.”

After the noodles are gone, Brienne makes them tea from the slightly stale tea bags and spoons honey to tea cups from a sticky jar. She doesn't even protest much when Jaime pours whisky to their teas. Her cheeks and nose are all pink from the warmth and Jaime can't stop staring at her long fingers wrapped around the tea mug.

“I'm surprised how well you have taken this all, Lannister,” she confesses after the tea is finished. “I kind of expected you to have a full-blown meltdown at the beginning of the drive for some stupid reason. Like the lack of champagne or something.”

“Is that what you think about me?” he lifts his eyebrows. “That I'm a spoiled and privileged brat?” Brienne bites her lip. “You would be right. Because I am a spoiled and privileged brat,” Jaime continues and makes Brienne laugh again. Jaime makes himself a mental note to get more of the same whisky to Brienne. Her laugh is adorably loud. If the whisky makes her laugh like that, Jaime will make sure there will be some nearby Brienne always.

That is until she cracks a great yawn.

“Shit,” she swears again and the pink colour drains from her face. “We need to figure out where we are going to sleep.”

Part III - In which there is only one bed (finally)

They both stand in front of an innocent-looking sofa. Brienne looks at it like it might bite her, which is unreasonable, even if one of the pillows has two dorky dogs embroidered on it.

“I can take the floor,” Jaime suggests.

“Don't be ridiculous. The floor is ice-cold.”

The floor is covered with stone, and when Jaime puts his hand on it it feels as cold as Crone's tits.

“We'll have to share.” Brienne is chewing on her lip again. It's all red and swollen and Jaime forces himself to look at the dorky dogs on the pillow.

“I will be a perfect gentleman, scouts honour,” he says and gets an eye-roll from Brienne like he hoped he would.

They rearrange the room so the sofa can be carried nearer to the fireplace. When Brienne throws off the pillows from top of the sofa, it turns out to be an ancient spring bed and not a sofa at all. Jaime chooses a couple of pillows for them (the one with the dogs to Brienne and one with shadowcats to himself) while Brienne searches for something to use as bedding. She manages to find a quilt and some blankets from a chest by the wall and lays them on the bed.

The bed looks very narrow.

Brienne looks panicky again.

“I'm going to the loo,” she squeaks and sprints to the door to pull on her coat.

“There's a loo?” Jaime looks up from the very narrow bed.

“The outhouse, Lannister,” Brienne shouts, grabs the torch and storms out of the house. Jaime is left behind, looking after her and clutching a pillow.

The room feels empty without Brienne in it and Jaime immediately starts to worry. What if Brienne does not return? How would he find her? What if there are wolves or bears outside? He looks around the cottage for a suitable weapon to defend Brienne against the bears but only sees a rusty antique sword and a shield with paint flaking on the wall. Before Jaime has time to go fetch the sword, Brienne dashes back inside with a great hurry.

“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck that was cold,” she shouts, runs to the table where the whisky is, pulls the cap off and drinks straight from the bottle.

“If you need to go, Lannister, I'd say go now while you can still follow my footsteps,” she says after wiping her mouth with her sleeve. She then hands the bottle and her torch to Jaime.

“I might as well,” Jaime nods and takes a swig of courage. He does need the loo.

Ever since Jaime Lannister was a child he had thought that the hardest thing to do was to say no to his father, but looking at Tywin Lannister's stone-cold and disappointed eyes is nothing compared to the trip Jaime Lannister is currently taking to icy cold and solidly frozen outhouse at the middle of the winter. On his way there he sort of wishes he was dead instead of trudging in the snow, but when his arse hits the seat he realises not dying is actually worse fate than dying from the exposure. He listens to the trees croaking in the woods and when he remembers that one tree that is currently laying on top of the main house, he finishes his business faster than he would ever have thought he could and runs back to the cottage.

Jaime's teeth are chattering with deafening noise when he finally is indoors again. Thankfully, the bottle of whisky is still on the table, but Brienne has disappeared. Only a lump on the bed and mop of pale hair on the pillow tells Jaime where she has hidden her tall self. She has blown out the candles littered around the room and left only one burning on the floor near the bed. Jaime downs a mouthful of whisky, hangs up his coat, toes off his boots and ski pants and thanks the Seven that his ass is getting slightly warmer than before. He does it all almost avoiding stepping into the melting snow on the floor and then dashes to sit on the edge of the bed, thankful for the darkness hiding his bright red thermal leggings. The leggings, though warm, are not at all a cool look, especially paired with his green novelty sweater which Jaime pulls off and throws to the floor. Then he picks the sweater up again, turns off the damn blinking lights and drops it back to the floor. Regardless of the general amount of whisky he just swallowed the cold is still set deep in his bones and his teeth are still chattering.

Then Jaime climbs into the bed and lies down next to Brienne.

Or tries to lie down, because as soon as settles down he suddenly finds himself rolling to the middle of the bed and on top of Brienne, who lets out a big _oomph_ when Jaime's body hits hers.

“Shit, sorry,” Jaime tries to roll away from Brienne, who stares at him with her pretty blue eyes as big as plates before she starts to move herself away from the middle of the bed. They manage to disentangle from each other, but as soon as Jaime lies on the bed, they roll to the middle again. But this time it's Brienne who rolls on top of Jaime, and it's Jaime who lets out a great big _oomph_.

“Oh, I'm very sorry.” Brienne's voice is very strained.

Jaime whimpers.

He has never realised how warm, solid and limbs-y Brienne is. There are limbs everywhere in the bed. Tall warm, and wriggling limbs covered in soft woolly clothes. Jaime's cock twitches.

“Shit, Tarth, let me just try to make some room,” he tries to wriggle himself away from Brienne before she notices how much he likes the warmth of her body, but it's not good, because as soon as he reaches at the edge of the bed again, Brienne sinks to the middle and then the damn gravity pulls Jaime on top of Brienne. Again.

“This gods-damn bed sags in the middle,” Brienne curses.

“Let's just try to settle,” Jaime tries desperately to think of a solution while climbing off from Brienne before she notices the ongoing situation in Jaime's red and woolly leggings. “I'll stay put and you try to find a position.” _That was a poor choice of words, Lannister_. He turns away from Brienne, who huffs and puffs like a wolf in a fairytale while the bed creaks.

Oh yeah, the damn bed creaks too. Fucking fantastic, thinks Jaime and tries desperately not to think which of Brienne's body parts is currently wriggling against his butt.

“Are you good?” Jaime asks when the wriggling finally stops. Her back is against his and their butts are touching, but at least she is not huffing any longer. “Is it comfortable now? Do you think you can sleep like this?”

“I would if you could shut up,” he hears Brienne behind him, so Jaime shuts up.

He is pretty comfortable like this, except for the boner of course. Jaime tries to think of something that is not related to Brienne's very warm butt against his own. He begins listing kings and queens of Westeros -- starting from the newest -- in his head, as this has been a good solution to previous Brienne Tarth-related boners he has managed to have over the years. He only gets until Victaria I when he hears Brienne.

“Good night, Jaime.” Her voice is sleepy and Jaime's cock springs up again.

“Good night, Tarth,” Jaime manages to say with a voice that he hopes is not very weird. Then he goes back to kings and queens. Soon enough he hears her breathing settling behind him, but Jaime himself can't sleep. Listing the kings and queens is not helping either because when he gets to King Jon the Sullen he remembers the argument about the Long Night he had with Brienne on their way to Eyrie and the way Brienne's face had gone all pink when she yelled him about the authenticity of Sam the Slayer's Chronicles. And it's definitely not helping either when Brienne sighs in her sleep, turns around and wraps her arm around Jaime's waist.

For a very short moment, Jaime considers escaping the bed and going outside to stand in the snow until his aching cock settles. It's pure torture to be in the bed, spooned by Brienne Tarth when her very long and warm limbs are wrapped around him. Jaime shortly entertains the idea of turning around, kissing Brienne awake and asking if she would want to try some frottage with him or maybe she would want to wrap her long fingers around his cock and...

Jaime quickly exorcizes that thought out of his head. It would be wrong to kiss a sleeping woman and to assault her with his boners in the only bed in this very tiny house. And it would be wrong to wrap his own hand around his cock and...

He must have made a noise because Brienne shushes him. “'S night,” she mumbles to his ear and pulls him closer. Her hand settles under his shirt.

“Elia the Second, Gerold the Sixth, Eddard the Eight, Gerold the Fifth, Eddard the Seventh, Victaria the First…”

It's also very comfortable to be spooned by Brienne because it's warm and pleasant, and in the end, Jaime lets Brienne's breath lull him into sleep.

Part IV - In which Brienne wakes up in a very warm bed in a rather cold room

When Brienne wakes up, she is lying half on top of Jaime Lannister, his arms around her and his cock poking at her hip. One of Jaime's hands is inside Brienne's leggings, settled nicely on top of Brienne's butt.

Brienne's whole life runs in front of her eyes, playing all the mistakes she has made that have led her into this dire situation where Jaime's cock is poking at her and his hand is inside her panties.

She never should have agreed to work with Starks. _That_ was a huge mistake. Almost as bad as that mistake she made once during on _another_ work trip when Brienne went and knocked on Jaime Lannister's hotel door to yell at him and he came to answer it wearing jogging bottoms so thin and soft that Brienne saw the outline of Jaime's cock and the words “Jaime's cock” lodged into Brienne's brain and never left.

She never should have agreed to go on _this_ work trip with him in the Eyrie, even though it was really close to her family ski lodge where she could spend her Sevenmas skiing and ice fishing and not thinking about Jaime Lannister at all.

All of these mistakes meant when Jaime Lannister asked Brienne if she could drop him off at a fancy ski resort on her way to her family ski lodge, she was thinking what Jaime's cock might look like in tight thermal underwear and said yes without meaning to do so.

She should have left him standing in the snowy parking lot, to find himself a limousine or a helicopter driven by a man in a top hat or whatever Lannisters do when they need to travel. And now Brienne has woken up at Grandpa Duncan's fishing cottage, in a bed that sags to the middle, on top of sleeping Jaime Lannister who decidedly doesn't let go of Brienne's butt when she tries to wiggle away from the bed.

“Wench, settle down,” he mutters and tightens his arm around her. “Is early,” he murmurs. “Wench?” Brienne looks at him, but Jaime is still sleeping and doesn’t react to her staring. “Who do you think I am?” she asks the sleeping man, who pets her arse lazily instead of responding. Brienne's blood floods around her body until most of it seems to rush to her nether regions, but somehow there's still a fair amount left to go heat up her face.

“You're Brienne,” Jaime murmurs. “With freckles,” he adds and then his hand pauses and Jaime's eyes blink open. There's a moment of confusion on his face before it gets replaced with a slightly bashful blush.

“Your hand is in my pants, Lannister,” she starts. She doesn't know what else to say. Maybe _good morning_ would have been better. Jaime doesn’t seem to know what to do either, and his Addams apple bobs up and down when he swallows. His hand is still in her pants. His cock twitches against her hip.

Brienne kisses him.

She kisses him regardless of their morning breath or constant worry residing inside her belly or any other reason why she shouldn't kiss Jaime, and Jaime kisses her back.

“Brienne,” he sighs into her mouth. “I've wanted to kiss you so long. Can I touch you like this?” he whispers and pushes his hands under her shirt. Brienne nods furiously.

“Fuck,” Jaime groans when he finds her nipple underneath the shirt. They shift and move and touch at each other, finding naked skin under the clothes, and tasting each other until Jaime pulls away. As much as one can pull away in a bed that sags to the middle.

“Brienne, my sweet girl, I want to fuck you so bad,” Jaime sighs and the words make Brienne squirm with pleasure. “I want to kiss your cunt and fuck you with my tongue.” His palm is rubbing Brienne over her leggings where she is aching and needy. “I want to bury my cock into your cunt and make you mewl until you fall apart.” A whimper escapes from Brienne. She pushes her fingers into his golden hair and reaches up to kiss him. Waking up in the bed with Jaime Lannister might be the best thing that has ever happened to Brienne.

“So why don't you, Jaime?” she whispers to his mouth, but Jaime drops down next to her and puts his forehead against hers.

“Because,” he groans and kisses Brienne's nose. “I want to do it properly. I want to take you out first, to a nice date. I've thought about it. Something fun first, maybe something sporty. Then a nice dinner and drinks maybe. Something romantic.”

“A romantic date?” Brienne asks. Something that has been very tightly wound uncoils in her belly. She combs through his silky hair with her fingers. Jaime groans and reaches to nip her bottom lip with his teeth before pulling back again.

“Yeah, a date. Or two. And then a nice place with a _firm_ bed.” His hand roams her body again before settling at her hip. “And condoms,” he adds. “There should be condoms, but we haven't got any now.”

Brienne feels her face to stretch into a smile. “We have condoms,” she says. “There is a box full of them in the cupboard next to the cutlery.”

Jaime hisses and hides his face to her neck.

“You're killing me, Brienne.”

“And we had a nice time yesterday, didn't we?” Jaime chuckles and looks up again. “We went for a walk in the woods, and then had a nice dinner.” Jaime snorts, but when she adds, “and we had drinks by the fireside, that was romantic, wasn't it?” He looks a little hopeful.

“That _was_ romantic, Brienne.” The bashful smile is back at his face. “I quite like you, Brienne Tarth,” he says and Brienne feels her face going hot again. “In a very mushy and warm way.” And then he kisses her again, not to her nose this time, but properly. Brienne sighs with relief and squeezes his cock through his thermal leggings.

“Fuck, yes,” Jaime groans and springs out of the bed. “Where are the damn condoms?” he shouts before dashing to the cupboard and Brienne tries not to laugh because his thermal leggings are Lannister red but when Jaime comes back to the bed with a strip of condoms in his hands and falls on top of Brienne again, she then quite forgets about everything else for awhile. Especially, when Jaime pulls off her shirt and takes her nipple into his mouth.

One by one, their clothes get pulled off and dropped to the floor until nothing remains between Jaime and Brienne. They move around, kiss and bite and Jaime's mouth is warm against her bare skin. He touches her and teases her until she thinks she can't take it any longer. “Please,” she begs and climbs on top of him, her wet cunt rubbing against his shaft.

“Jaime,” Brienne mewls when he finally rolls on a condom and sinks his cock deep into her aching cunt. The air around them is fucking cold, but Brienne shrugs away the blankets and rides Jaime, her nipples tightening in the freezing air. Jaime is so beautiful, so pretty laying like that under her, all golden and pink and so fuckable. The little flower of pleasure inside Brienne grows larger and larger, it grows roots all around her. In her nipples that are aching for Jaime's mouth, at her hips where Jaime's fingertips press into her skin, at her mouth when she bends down to kiss him and most of all in her cunt where Jaime fills her. And there it finally blossoms to full bloom, and Brienne cries and shakes until Jaime follows her and pulls her down into his arms again.

As soon as her breath catches, she is cold again. Jaime pulls out of her, does something that is probably gross with the condom and pulls all the blankets up.

“Fuck, that was the hottest wakeup I've had in my entire life,” he mouths against her neck, lying on top of her, because of the damn sagging bed he has rolled there again. His weight feels glorious and Brienne hums.

“It's Sevenmas,” she suddenly remembers.

“Happy Sevenmas, Brienne.” Jaime kisses her chin. “My sweet wench. I would give you a gift, but you already unwrapped my package.” Brienne can't help herself and laughs at his dumb joke. She would laugh more, but then Jaime kisses her again, in a very dirty way that Brienne starts to like very much.

“Happy Sevenmas, Jaime.”

The world around them is cold and full of snow, but here together they are warm and happy.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Stranger fuck me sideways_ is shamelessly stolen from Gilshalos1 who has written the best asoiaf profanities.


End file.
